


For Theon

by DefinitionOfTheWordFangirl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Justice for Theon 2k19, M/M, Poor Theon, Season 8 scarred my soul, also, poor Jon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 10:31:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19462138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefinitionOfTheWordFangirl/pseuds/DefinitionOfTheWordFangirl
Summary: In the thick of it, in the crescendo wave of blood and heat and sweat, Jon had not been able to wipe Theon from his mind. As his blade clashed against bone and he felt friends fall around him, the blue eyes he saw were not those of the dead.





	For Theon

In the thick of it, in the crescendo wave of blood and heat and sweat, Jon had not been able to wipe Theon from his mind. As his blade clashed against bone and he felt friends fall around him, the blue eyes he saw were not those of the dead.

Images of blood splattered against the red leaves of the Weirwood and a single man standing between Bran and the evil of this world followed him like a shadow across the battlefield. Theon's voice echoed in each scream he heard. As the Unsullied fell and the dragons were torn from the skies by white winds, the pull toward that holy grove and the man he had so much to confess to became ever stronger. He found himself tearing through a never ending wall of empty blue eyes and reaching hands, fighting his way desperately to the Godswood.

Jon's blood raced through his veins to the beat of a war drum, desperate as he saw Theon from afar, standing alone and uncowed.

It was then, beneath a black abyss of night, as each fire flickered out, that the Night King appeared before Jon's eyes. He walked to the old tree, uncaring of the few flickering flames and the holiness of the earth, approaching Theon with an unhurried pace.

_'Theon!'_

Jon's cry of his lover's name went unheard by all but one. Sea blue eyes looked up, searching. He would be too late, he knew this now. Theon saw him, and saw the moment in which he realised this. The turncloak smiled then, slow and small. The expression on a face so ravaged by war, loss and pain was enough to bring Jon to his knees. Theon nodded, once. _I know. I'm ready._ His smile expressed that which he could not. _Thank you._

The fleeting moment passed and the man Jon loved, _hostage turned traitor turned friend_ , squared his frail shoulders. With a howl worthy of a direwolf, Theon launched himself toward the Night King.

His scream cut off suddenly. An icy blade glinted blue in the cold air. Jon saw him shudder from afar. The weapon tore into Theon's chest, and he fell without a sound, mouth wide and eyes glazed.

In that moment, some part of Jon's cursed, still-beating heart turned brittle and shattered. Eyes of blue fire met his from across the battlefield. This, thought Jon, is the day you die. If for nothing else, then for this. _For Theon._

**Author's Note:**

> Because I'm still not over it.


End file.
